


Close, closer

by Elphen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Possessive Sherlock, Post The Reichenbach Fall, Vampire Sherlock, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sherlock came back from the dead, he's been John's constant shadow, looming over him at every moment. Eventually John confronts him about it but the answer might not be quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close, closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMadKatter13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/gifts).



> I wrote this as a thank you piece for TheMadKatter13 for her wonderful, stupendous beta work and she gave me leave to post it here, too :). Glad you liked it, dear :)  
> She has a thing for possessive Sherlock, so that's what I went for. Where the vampire thing came from I have no idea. First time writing vampire stuff, too.   
> No beta for this, just a little fun piece.

It could have been worse, John supposed. It could, for one, have ended like he thought it would. Still, the end result he _did_ get was fraying his nerves ever so slightly.

He was attempting to pick up groceries down the supermarket, but the attempt was severely hampered by the continued looming of his flatmate. Getting the groceries themselves with a man practically pressed against his back was annoying and difficult enough, but the amount of stares they engendered made him want to throw his hands up in surrender and just storm out of there.

They really did need the food, however, and so, with some difficulty, he persevered.

“Sherlock, would you kindly _move_? I need my wallet and I can’t get to it with you so close behind me.” _At least not without touching...things_ , he mentally added.

Instead of answering, Sherlock merely reached over the doctor’s shoulder and swiped what looked suspiciously like _John’s_ credit card through the pin-and-chip machine, punching in the code.

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. “Of course you know my pin code. I mean, why not? It’s not even-“

“Hush, John. It’s fine, calm down. You don’t want to cause another scene, do you?”

Another deep breath indicated another attempt to keep the anger in check. “Oh, yes, because it is me who’s making a scene. Clearly the fact that _you’re_ the one that’s looming way too close and is practically nuzzling my neck has nothing to do with it. Silly of me to think so, really.”

The consulting detective wasn’t rising to the dry sarcasm. He merely smiled, face still close enough to John’s neck to let his lips as well as his teeth brush against it.

The ex-soldier’s breath hitched. Faintly he could feel the canines lengthen ever so slightly, pressing against his skin. He cleared his throat somewhat more noisily than he normally would and started gathering the groceries into a bag, putting on a smile.

They went through the sliding doors and down the street, Sherlock still close on John’s heels, but hands naturally free of any bags.

As they rounded a corner, coming up on Baker Street, and the doctor almost bumped into someone, causing the taller man to grab hold of his hip, John couldn’t help himself any longer.

“You know, it’s funny, in a way,” he commented. He noted how, even though there was no longer any reason to, the hand on his hip had not been removed. “Before...,” he cleared his throat. “Before you barely acknowledged or even realized whether I was in the flat or not, never mind actually getting out of the flat itself except for cases or experiments. Now you’re my own personal shadow.” He kept his gaze firmly fixed ahead of him.

The hand pulled him in a little closer. “Don’t sell yourself short, John. I was always aware of your whereabouts and presence.”

_So you just chose to ignore me, then,_ John thought, in the somewhat amused exasperation he reserved for Sherlock Holmes. “Then why have you any need of being so close constantly now? If you could keep track of me before from home then why not do so now?”

They’d reached 221 by that point and Sherlock pushed the doctor inside and up the stairs somewhat roughly after unlocking both the front door and their own before boxing him in against the living room wall. John opened his mouth to protest at being manhandled like that, but only managed an intake of breath before a little too cool hand settled over it, preventing him from making much noise.

“You do know how I detest having to repeat myself,” Sherlock said with a bit of a growl in his voice. His eyes didn’t register any anger or irritation, however, but a hint of wetness and a look of loss.

The smaller man pulled the hand away from his mouth, looking his friend in the eye. “Perhaps, but us mere mortals sometimes need things explained more thoroughly than just a claim of ownership – which is downright ridiculous, too.”

Full lips pulled in an expression that might have been a smile or possibly merely a grimace. The detective pressed in close, forcing John back against the wall with bony hands on his shoulders.

“But you are mine, John. You are _mine_ and I will allow no one the opportunity to take you away from me.” The voice lowered and got a haunted undertone. “I have made that mistake before and I paid for it.”

That got John angry. “ _You_ paid for it? _You_ did?” he hissed. “You...you utter bastard of a selfish, unthinking, arrogant _berk_!”

He attempted to shove the taller man away from him, but was not successful. Instead he was merely pressed further into the wall, which only fuelled his anger.

“You jump off a building in front of me without so much as a clue as to why you really do it. You survive – well, of course you do – but don’t think to inform me of the fact, leaving me a wreck that has to attend your bloody funeral as well as try to pick up the pieces and then...” he drew a breath, having exhausted his air supply in his rant, “Then you stay away for three bleeding years and then calmly waltz back like you’ve just been down the shops instead of...of...” His breath hitched.

After a few deep breaths, he cleared his throat and carried on. “ _And_ you had the audacity to say there’d been nothing to worry about at all. That you were bloody well _immortal_ and that I’d been falling apart for no damn reason at all.” He glared at the other. “So don’t go telling me you paid for it when you’ve suffered nothing.”

Suddenly elongated canines were pressing against his throat, dangerously close to breaking skin as they moved over it before the mouth was moved upwards to the shell of an ear.

“I suffered nothing, you say?” Sherlock asked with a slight purr to his voice, low and dangerous.”So the pain of watching the disbelief and blooming hurt in your eyes as I plummeted to the ground; the agony of hearing your pained plea at my gravestone and knowing I could not go to you as I wished to as long as there was still a threat to your life if I did so; the wrenching loneliness that plagued me for all the time I was away from here, from you – all of that was nothing? It was just a figment of my imagination because as an undead I have no soul, no heart?”

There was no immediate answer.

“One thing you should understand, John,” he continued in that same tone, “is that we do not need humans around merely for their blood. If that was the case, there are far easier ways to get the required blood.” He pressed closer. “We need them in order to be more than mere predators, hunters of the night searching only for sustenance. You make us capable of being, for lack of a better term, human.”

“That still doesn’t-“

“Do shut up.” The fangs were once again scraping lightly across the skin. “I had no need to be human for my pursuits. Humans were annoying, idiotic and unimportant. I fed on blood bags and the homeless network when the need arose and I worked. It was perfect.”

John could feel the lips twisting, not certain if it was a smile or not. “Then you came along, completely oblivious to my...status and you showed me what else a human can be and that being without is far from perfect.”

Sherlock pulled back enough to look his friend in the eye, confirming that he was smiling. “I was right. You may not be the most illuminating of people, but you are a conductor of light in more ways than one.”

John frowned, somewhat thrown. “All of that sounds awfully close to sentiment.”

The detective snorted, seemingly despite himself, still smiling. “That _is_ rather the point. I would not have jumped if not for sentiment. I would not have endured the loneliness or come back if not for sentiment – and pure selfishness, too, of course.”

His smile widened into a version that was more familiar to John as the almost trademark smug smile, but then it transformed into a slight scowl.

“And for those purely selfish reasons _as well_ as the sentiment I will keep you close,” he said, dead-serious. “I will not take the chance of losing you for good and if that means shadowing you constantly, I will. I will follow you wherever you go to make sure you are safe.”

The doctor was frowning again. “You do realize quite how unhealthy and stalker-ish that sounds, don’t you?” he asked, but his tone of voice indicated more concern and the exasperation that was typical of John than actual annoyance or anger. It warmed the heart that Sherlock didn’t have. Definitely didn’t have.

Sherlock, in turn, gave the special ‘of course, don’t be an idiot’ look he’d probably perfected years prior. Then he leant in and planted a solid kiss on the other man’s lips, leaving a puzzled and somewhat dumbfounded look on John’s face as he pulled back only far enough to gauge the reaction.

“What the hell was that for?” John could feel his heart suddenly pounding, with surprise and arousal and a bit of fear.

“You are mine, John Watson,” he answered simply. “In every sense of the word. Mine to keep, to use and to have until your last breath.” He punctuated his words by letting his fang peak out over his lower lip for just a moment.

“So lo- sentiment gives you leave to be a possessive bastard that tramples all over my life, boundaries and dignity?” Again, the doctor didn’t even seem particularly annoyed by it. He was even starting to smile a little, in the way he did when he was putting up with Sherlock’s oddities .

“Obviously. When have I done anything but, John?” Sherlock purred before landing another kiss.

This time John tentatively responded, though somewhat reluctantly, but pulled back before the kiss was deepened. Sherlock had the cheek to pout when the doctor kept him from trying again, pushing the skinny but deceptively strong body away from him as best he could.

“No, no. No. Hold on. Stop. I can live with a lot of things, including you showing sentiment in about the weirdest possible ways and you being an utter berk about coming back.” He did, however, shoot a glare at the other at that. “But I am not allowing you to kiss me just so you can conveniently let your fangs ‘slip’ and feed on me.”

The detective opened his mouth, but the shorter man held up a hand. “Don’t bother denying it, Sherlock. Anything you do is for your own gain in some way or another. It’s not a criticism, either, it’s just a fact.”

Sherlock met John’s slight glare with one of his own. He then shoved one leg between the doctor’s, grinding it slowly against the slight hardness it found there, and bared his fangs as he smiled.

“Of course it’s for my own gain – even a selfless act is born out of a selfish desire to feel good,” he said softly into John’s ear. “Possession, in this case, does not just mean claiming for my own gain, but for the gain of both parties. I want to hear you sing, John, as I take you apart and put you together. I want you to give yourself to me, in every way possible. You are not simply a meal. You are my flatmate, my blogger, my constant companion and my only friend and I _will_ have you as my lover.”

His teeth scraped ever so lightly over the piece of skin just below the shell of John’s ear, drawing a single, thin line of blood which was quickly licked up.

John swallowed heavily as the touch of first the teeth, then the tongue sent shivers of further arousal through him. He tried to catch Sherlock’s eye and when he finally did, he had to swallow again at what he saw in those eyes. Eyes that were usually so cold, though never dead as they should have been, now smouldered with promises, some of them very dark and thrilling.

As he was led, a tad forcefully, from the living room and into the detective’s bedroom, a line from a song he’d heard in his youth crept into the forefront of his mind.

_And he will do as he do, do, and there’s no doing anything about it._ It was oddly fitting. Not that he minded.

**Author's Note:**

> There we go. Nothing much to say. It wasn't meant to be long or overly dramatic, but now, after writing this, I am kinda tempted to write something about John going back and forth on allowing Sherlock to bite and turn him, perhaps as a follow up. Oh, well, just a thought.
> 
> Feedback is loved and treasured, but if you can keep the criticism constructive, that would be wonderful.


End file.
